


Healing

by Achika



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cousin Incest, M/M, Recovery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achika/pseuds/Achika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros recovers after being rescued from Morgoth's grasp and deals with his brothers, with the help of Fingon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healing

Maedhros awoke to the disorienting sensations of being horizontal and on something much softer than rock. His eyes were closed, he’d been deep in a healing sleep. Something squeezed his left hand gently. Maedhros squeezed back, as much as he could.

“You’re awake,” And Maedhros knew that voice, maybe better than his own at this point.

He licked his lips, managing to rasp out “Findekáno,” before he started coughing. 

“Here, have some water. Drink slowly,” Fingon said. He helped Maedhros sit up enough that Fingon could hold a goblet to Maedhros’ dry lips. 

Maedhros drank until all the water was gone. 

“Thank you,” Maedhros said. “I…”

Fingon squeezed Maedhros’ left hand again. “You’re Welcome. I would have done much worse to get you back,” He said, responding to everything Maedhros hadn’t been able to say.

“You haven’t opened your eyes,” Fingon said. 

“I know,” Maedhros said. 

“Why?” Fingon asked.

“Because…I’m afraid,” Maedhros whispered. 

“Of what?” Fingon asked, brushing some of Maedhros’ hair from his face. Maedhros leaned into the touch.

“What if I open my eyes and this isn’t real? What if I’m still on that mountain and this is just a dream?” Maedhros said.

Fingon made a noise like he was choking back tears. “Oh Maitimo. Don’t worry; this is very, very real,” 

Maedhros felt Fingon shift, and then there was the soft press of lips against his own, familiar even after all these years. Fingon’s hair brushed Maedhros’ face, and he could feel the dampness of Fingon’s tears.

Maedhros opened his eyes as Fingon pulled away. 

“Hello, cousin,” Maedhros said. “It’s good to see you again,”

Fingon laughed, wiping away the last of his tears. “Ai, how silly I must look!”

“Like a fool,” Maedhros said, nodding gravely, which only caused Fingon to laugh harder. 

The door to the room opened, and in walked Maglor.

“Fingon, have you finally gone around the bend? I swear I…” Maglor froze, and Fingon laughed even harder, which set off Maedhros’ laughter, even though it quickly turned into winces and coughing. 

“Maedhros, you’re awake!” Maglor said. 

“I’m not. I’m asleep. Are you sure you haven’t finally gone around the bend?” Maedhros asked innocently, and Fingon had to bury his face in the bed to muffle his howls. 

“You’re going to give Fingon a fit if you don’t stop. And speaking of Fingon, it was so nice of him to tell us that our gravely injured brother had finally awoken _and_ fetch a healer to examine him,” Maglor said. 

“Now, now, Maglor, I only just woke up. No need to be in a snit,” Maedhros said, voice gentle and firm despite the rust of disuse. 

Maglor rolled his eyes and poked his head out the door, flagging down a chamber maid to fetch the healer and the rest of their brothers. 

“I hope you’re up for visitors, brother,” Maglor said, propping open the door.

“Like dear Maedhros has a choice,” Fingon said. “This room will be filled to bursting within five minutes,” 

Amrod and Amras arrived within seconds of the healer, panting and with faces nearly as red as their hair. Maedhros could hear them running down the hallway, the familiar quick step for four feet. They nearly overshot and had to skid to a stop, which Maedhros watched in amusement while the healer poked and prodded him.

“Maedhros!” They cried in unison. They clearly would have flung themselves onto their older brother if it wasn’t for Celegorm and Curufin appearing behind them, still dirty from their hunt, and grabbing the backs of their tunics. 

Caranthir arrived soon after, carrying two bottles of wine.

“Fashionably late as always, Caranthir,” Curufin said with an eyeroll. 

“All’s well, he’s brought the alcohol,” Celegorm said. 

“I hope you don’t intend to give any of that to my patient,” the healer said in disapproval.

“Of course not!” Amrod and Amras chimed. 

“We’d never do such a thing to one whose health is so fragile,” Caranthir said. 

“It’s for us to drink in front of him,” Fingon said, popping open the first bottle while Maglor searched for goblets. 

Maedhros groaned, letting his head fall back onto the headboard. “I hate you all,” he grumbled. 

“I am _wounded_. Cut to the quick. I rescue your brother from the face of a cliff and what do I get in return? Do you see what I deal with?” Fingon said cheerfully to Maedhros’ brothers.

“Hush, brother. Be a good boy and let the healer examine you,” Curufin said. 

“Success!” Maglor said, passing wine glasses Fingon, and a cheer went through the room. Once everyone except Maedhros had a glass, Maglor cleared his throat.

“I propose a toast. To our beloved older brother Maedhros. It’s great to have you back, truly. Now I don’t have to deal with all these idiots and can go back to composing music,” Maglor said. 

“And to Fingon, who pulled the most boneheaded move I’ve ever heard of, which is certainly saying something. And on top of that, he survived!” Celegorm said, raising his glass. 

“To Maedhros and Fingon!” Six voices cheered, and Maedhros couldn’t help but smile at the warmth behind their words. 

 

On his third day back, Maedhros asked for a mirror. 

“Don’t bother yourself with petty things like that, Maedhros, concentrate on getting better,” Fingon said from his chair beside Maedhros’ bed. 

Maedhros’ huffed in annoyance. “Better, he says, when I lack both my right hand and the strength to sit up for longer than five minutes?” 

Fingon rolled his eyes. “You still have one hand, and that is good enough to do most things,”

“How reassuring that I can still be of some use to you, beloved cousin,” Maedhros said, raising an eyebrow.

Fingon smiled and lifted Maedhros’ right arm. He placed a gentle kiss on the bandages still covering the wound where Maedhros’ hand used to be. Maedhros felt his heart lighten considerably. 

“You will _always_ be useful to me, Maitimo,” Fingon said. 

“Good. Now get me that blasted mirror, if you please,” Maedhros said.

“How could I possibly resist such a nicely worded request?” Fingon asked, rising and walking to Maedhros’ dresser. He returned with the silver hand mirror that Maedhros kept in the top drawer. 

“Remember, you were captive for years and…” Fingon said, hesitating.

“I hardly think I could forget. Let me see,” Maedhros said, holding out his left hand. 

Fingon sighed and handed over the mirror. 

“Ai, I can hardly believe that it’s my own face staring back at me!” Maedhros said, taking in his gaunt face and long, scraggly hair. His skin was sickly bone white, having long given up on burning from the sunlight.

“You’re already looking much better,” Fingon said. 

Maedhros laughed. “You’re lying. But thank you,” 

Fingon sat down on the bed, careful not to jostle Maedhros too much. He reached over and smoothed Maedhros’ hair, petting him like one would a particularly skittish cat. 

“Your mother,” Fingon said, “would be horrified at the state of your hair,”

“She would,” Maedhros agreed.

“Would you like for me to cut it for you?” Fingon asked. “I’m sure there is a pair of scissors around somewhere,”

“Would you?” Maedhros asked, leaning against Fingon. 

“I will. I think it will help you feel better,”

“Then I leave myself in your capable hands,” Maedhros said.

 

“What are you doing?” Fingon yelled, frozen in the doorway. Maedhros didn’t look up, just continued trying to tie up his leggings with one hand. He let loose a steady stream of curses in frustration.

“ _Nelyafinwe!_ ” Fingon snapped, and he sounded so much like their grandfather in one of his moods that Maedhros paused instinctively. 

“I am bored, Fingon. I am not meant to be wasting away in bed all day,” Maedhros sighed, returning to his laces.

“Wasting away? You are _healing_. Recovery takes _time_ , Maedhros,” 

Maedhros made a frustrated noise and gave up on the ties in disgust. Fingon sighed and walked over. He did up Maedhros’ leggings quickly, and straightened Maedhros’ tunic. Maedhros flushed, torn between gratitude for unflappable Fingon and humiliation that he needed the assistance in the first place. 

“We’ll need to see if we can’t figure out an easy way for you to dress yourself,” Fingon said.

“Curufin and Celegorm already had that thought. They’re working with the tailors and seamstresses,” 

“Your brothers are sweet,” Fingon said, and led Maedhros back to his bed. 

Maedhros was too busy laughing at the very idea of his brothers being sweet to be upset at being forced back to bed.

 

Fingon managed to track down a pair of scissors suitable for hair. He ‘cornered’ Maedhros with them, who simply raised an eyebrow and said “Now?” 

“Yes. I cannot stand to look at that mess on your head for another moment. Now, let’s move you to a chair,”

Before Fingon even bothered to brush or wet Maedhros’ long hair, he tied it off and attacked it with the scissors, cutting off a great chunk of the tangled and frayed mess. 

“You know, the last time you did this it took a very long time to return to normal,” Maedhros teased.

Fingon huffed. “I was only a child, barely more than a toddler. And if I remember correctly you were all for it until your mother threw a fit,”

Maedhros wound up with hair much shorter than he had worn it since he reached his majority. But Fingon had done a good job, and his hair looked much healthier. 

 

 

It took some time before the healer would let Maedhros leave his bed. He was still weak, but he was gaining back weight and color in his skin. Immediately, Maedhros was swarmed with people who wanted him. There were army leaders, political advisors, representatives from uncle Fingolfin and Finrod’s followers, not to mention the Avari. And they all thought that _they_ were the most worthy of the returned High King’s time. 

Maedhros had taken to slipping away and going to the training yard. Maedhros might not be able to use a bow and arrow, but he was determined to get his sword skills back. Using his left hand was proving harder than he was expecting, and he couldn’t practice for long without getting worn out, but no amount of muscle loss was going to stop him. 

Fingon stood by the door to the training yard, leaning against the doorframe and binding his hair into braids. Maedhros paused, taking in the sight of his old friend.

“Have you come to take me back to my advisors? Because I can assure you that I will not go down without a fight,” Maedhros said. 

Fingon looked up and shook his head. “No. I actually came to see if you would like to spar with me,” 

Maedhros relaxed. “Of course. It was getting tiresome fighting my shadow and straw dummies,” 

Fingon led the way outside, and Maedhros began stretching his arms. His muscles were still not accustomed to the way he was now using them. He had been right handed before his capture, and was having to retrain his muscles to move in new ways without damaging them while his body recovered from years of trauma. 

“Let’s see what you can do, Coppertop,” Fingon said, smirking and drawing his sword. 

Maedhros grinned. He had missed Fingon.

 

Maedhros had nightmares. He never spoke of them, but it was an open secret. Servants heard his screams, and he was pale and tired the next morning. By far the most common of his nightmares was that he was still in Morgoth’s grasp, hanging off the Thangorodrim. Sometimes, Fingon came to rescue him only to be killed instead, and Morgoth left his body where Maedhros could see it. Or maybe he dreamt of his father. Mad, stubborn Feanor setting fire to the boats only to discover one of the twins had still been inside asleep. Sometimes it was Amrod who survived, sometimes Amras. 

So Maedhros slept as little as possible. He walked his fort, sometimes heading to the kitchens or his study. He tried not to disturb anyone who was still up and working, or worse, asleep, and tried to vary his routine so as not to be too obvious about his trouble sleeping. 

He was in the kitchen stealing an apple and a glass of water. Halfway through the apple, when Maedhros was contemplating going to the stables, he heard the faint footsteps of someone walking down the corridor. The rhythm was familiar and within a few seconds Fingon poked his sleep mussed head in.

“There you are. I was looking for you. Could you not sleep either, Maedhros?” 

Maedhros shook his head and motioned to the seat next to him. 

“What has you awake so late?” Maedhros asked. 

“I’m not sure. I was asleep, but I awoke with the curious feeling that something was off, and that I needed to see you right away,” Fingon said, yawning. 

“You have found me,” Maedhros said.

“So I have,” Fingon said, resting his head on Maedhros’ shoulder. “Why are _you_ still awake? I notice you haven’t changed into your nightclothes,” Fingon asked eventually. 

“Lorien’s realm holds no comfort for me,” Maedhros said, smoothing Fingon’s hair.

“You should at least try to sleep. You are still unwell,” Fingon protested. 

“And yet my dreams prevent it,” Maedhros said.

Fingon looked troubled by the admission, and grabbed Maedhros’ hand.

“Come to my bed. I shall guard your dreams this night,” 

“Such a proposition to the High King,” Maedhros chuckled. 

“Do you accept?” Fingon asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I am not sure I can refuse,” Maedhros said with a jaw cracking yawn.

Fingon smiled and led Maedhros to his chamber. Maedhros took off his shirt, but left his leggings. The two of them got into bed, and Fingon kissed Maedhros’ forehead.

“Sleep. Nothing will harm you tonight,” he said, and Maedhros gave him a fond smile before falling asleep.

He awoke the next morning feeling more refreshed than he had in a very long time. He had an arm thrown over Fingon, and his nose buried in Fingon’s hair. Fingon must have sensed that Maedhros was awake, because a moment later Fingon was blinking up at him.

“How do you feel?” Fingon asked.

“Better. Thank you,”

Fingon rolled his eyes and smacked him lightly with a pillow. 

“It was hardly cutting you off the face of a cliff, you know. Sleeping with a handsome, warm body in my bed is such a hardship, how ever did I survive it?”   
Maedhros grinned and put his shirt back on. 

“As much as I wish that I could stay in your bed forever, I have things I need to do today,” 

“Pity,” Fingon said, not bothering to hide his assessment of Maedhros’ form. 

Maedhros ruffled Fingon’s hair and retreated to his own rooms. He ignored the whispers that followed in his wake, dressed as he was in yesterday’s clothes and leaving Fingon’s rooms so early in the morning.

 

“Brothers, I think Maedhros has officially _lost his mind_ ,” Celegorm said. 

“He must have! Ai, what would grandfather say?” Caranthir said, shaking his head. 

“Giving up the kingship to Uncle Fingolfin? What are you _thinking_ , Maedhros?” Curufin asked.

Maglor leaned in and put his hand to Maedhros’ forehead. “Well, he doesn’t have a fever,” 

“Stop it, all of you,” Maedhros warned, pinching the bridge of his nose and leaning back in his chair. “I am tired, I am unwell and I lack the patience for your whining. I cannot fulfill the duties of High King, and _Uncle Fingolfin can_ , probably better than I could have had I _been_ well. I am your older brother and as head of this family I am putting my foot down. You may be grown, and I may be maimed, but you are not so big that I cannot still bend you over my knees. Now act like the adults you are, I have earned at least _that_ much respect for all my troubles, have I not?” 

His brothers bristled, all except the twins, and nodded stiffly, saying nothing. 

“Now be gone from my sight. I weary of your company,” Maedhros said, motioning to the door pointedly with the stub where his right hand should be.

Maedhros made the formal announcement the next week, after Fingolfin had arrived and had time to settle in. His brothers stood behind him, faces blank, and made no protests. He put the circlet on Fingolfin’s head, but his eyes were on Fingon, who stood behind his father. Fingon smiled at him, and the cheer from the crowd faded into the background. 

 

The day Maedhros beat Fingon in their sparring match was the day he knew he was back to himself. Fingon just stared up at him from the ground in shock until Maedhros smirked and helped him up. Then Fingon grinned, eyes bright and face still flushed. 

“You,” he said, out of breath “are amazing,” 

Maedhros kissed him then, determined but sweet. Fingon’s fingers grasped Maedhros’ hair, and for a moment Maedhros felt like they were back in Valinor, in grandfather Finwe’s secret garden, young and innocent with no concept of the horrors that they would face. 

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Maedhros said, resting his forehead against Fingon’s. 

“You’d be lost without me,” Fingon said lightly before kissing Maedhros again. 

Maedhros knew deep in his heart that it was true. Without Fingon he’d be a shell of himself. Luckily, Fingon seemed determined to stay by his side.


End file.
